I have been taking up weaving.
Making cloth is a very human thing.
A few facts surprise me:
How long it takes to warp the loom,
How many ways there are to fix mistakes,
How quickly knots can generate themselves.
Which facts become important as I weave,
And which, in final cloth, are meaningless.
The loom is on my bed.
A dozen dozen strings flow over foot and head
Soon rolled and taut and fit to pull and spread
As half or third are lifted in a shed.
I have been taking up weaving.
I have become insufferable at the mall:
Do you have anything that is all wool? All cotton?
I see a design, and am fascinated
Until I get close enough to see that it's a print.
I find myself wanting to touch:
The jackets, plackets, shirts and skirts and pants
Umbrella, sailcloth, carpet, rug and hat.
The satin, plain, and twill
Or even knit.
I have been taking up weaving.
By hand.
Each passage of the shuttle back and forth
Each roller ratchet clicking forth the cloth
Each beat and shed, each push and pull and turn
With selvedge straight or pulled-in
I will earn
The title "weaver".
This I hope.
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Unknown, Cover
Italian, Perugia
15th–16th century
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majin buu by anthony akinbola, 2022, durags on wooden panel, 96 x 108 x 3 inches
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